


we are all that remain

by Penguin_Lord



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, The Oregon Files - Clive Cussler
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5729371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penguin_Lord/pseuds/Penguin_Lord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of Ark Angel, the ASIS were not the ones to find Alex Rider's capsule. Juan Cabrillo and the crew of the Oregon were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are all that remain

**Author's Note:**

> This crossover vein has been stuck in my head for some time. I cannot see me ever creating a full length story around this, but I might eventually finish my train of thought to make a complete oneshot.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Alex Rider tried to count down the seconds before the impact of his capsule landing forcefully in the ocean. The trip had seemed to last mere seconds. This was a blink of the eye compared to his original trip up to the space hotel, measured in part by the quickly approaching ocean he could see through the minuscule window. However, even the with the quick return, Alex was able to keep time accurately by the thudding of his heart. It kept thudding louder and louder as the deep blue of the ocean rushed up to meet him. The last five seconds were the longest. The stretched an eternity, more than making up for the quick return.

The breath was knocked out of him all at once upon impact. A wall of water shot twenty feet into the air, a shining beacon to mark his entry, like the American flag still standing on the moon from those first few astronauts that were brave enough to make the trek. Alex had never identified with those historic pioneers; their deeds were written down in history books with such firm solidity that, before this had happened, he had always associated with a time long past. And yet now he was one of them. He had not stepped on the moon, but his body had left the only world he had ever known far behind.

He was jarred from his recollection by the rebound from his landing. It forced his head into contact with an overhead wheel and sharp pain was the last thing he felt as his whole world faded to black.

\-------

Forty miles away, a ship named the Oregon steamed nosily southward. The noise, and the ugly black clouds of smog so dense and toxic-looking that the EPA would probably want the Oregon hauled away for scrap, were not accurate. Both these things and everything from the rust-stained, mismatched, multi-painted sides to the forlorn, decrepit barrels sitting on the deck were a lie. Even the Captain’s cabin, specially outfitted with regurgitating toilet and broken clips, was a calculated decision on behalf of the Captain of Oregon, a man by the name of Juan Cabrillo.

The Chairman, as most of the crew called him, was an ex-CIA agent of some repute and had founded the Corporation, bought the Oregon, had her refurbished with a false exterior and then stocked his ship with the best tactical equipment and most competent men and women he could recruit. A better crew anywhere in the seven seas you would be hard-pressed to find, explained by the military intelligence and armed service veterans that made up the majority of the crew.

Juan reflected on the metal of the his crew as he sat at the “Kirk Chair”, as Murph and Stone liked to call it, in the center of the Ops Center. Currently they were between jobs, just having finished a particularly nasty one involving a set of radical eco-terrorists and a captured revolutionary leader. Juan was looking forward to the coming weeks of leisured sailing and potential baby-sitting. The Emeir, one of their regular clients who hired them as extra security, had phoned earlier about a potential job. It didn’t start for another week so Juan had told the engine room to set the artificial smoke maker to high and ordered Eric to take them to 10 knots, rather than a higher speed of 30 to 40 knots, which the Oregon could do with ease but would arise suspicion.

Navigation projected they would reach the Emeir in five days, from their current position near Australia. Juan was expecting calm seas and smooth sailing, so he sat back and relaxed for a brief minute.

Which, of course, is when the trouble started.

One moment, tranquility, the next, the radar started going haywire. Hali Kasim, their communications expert, examined the blinking screen with a critical eye.

“Chairman,” he called out, “I’m getting large reading about 50 miles away. I can’t tell where it came from at all; it’s like it just appeared in radar range.”

Juan pulled up the radar on his own screen.

“Is it coming towards us?” Max Hanley, the Oregon’s second in command asked.

“That’s just it,” Hali said in frustration. “It doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere. It’s like it’s-“

“Falling down,” Juan finished for Hali. “That object wasn’t shot from anywhere, it’s falling from space.”

“Space, whoa, really?” Eric Stone, the Helm operator, asked.

“Space?” Mark Murphy, his partner in crime and Weapons operator chimed it. “Think it’s an alien? I bet it’s an alien. Or it could be a radioactive meteor. Or-“

Juan tuned out Murph’s rambling, far too used to the younger man’s conspiracy theories and their tendency to overwhelm Mark’s top flight mind. “Hali, has there been any chatter about classified space travel?”

“None, Chairman. In fact, the only group that has been even remotely active in the space industry lately is Nikolei Drevin’s group.”

Around the room, people’s expressions darkened. They had all heard about the CIA’s investigation into the corrupt Russian billionaire.

“Is it possible this is something from him?” Juan asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

“It’s more than possible, Chairman, it’s extremely likely. I just did the calculations and Ark Angel, Drevin’s space hotel, was above this position when whatever it was that is coming down would have been released.”

All of a sudden, the red flashing stopped, signaling the landing of the object.

“Helm, take us to that position, now,” Juan said, cutting off all questions. “Let’s get there and see what it is. Overholt might be able to use it to take Drevin down.”

“Roger that, Chairman,” Eric said, changing the bearing and putting on the speed.

\--------

The Oregon approached the bobbing canister less than two hours later. Juan had ordered the helm to go full speed, in order to reach whatever it was that had crashed first, before Drevin’s forces could get to it by helicopter or another method of transportation, assuming they knew about whatever had fallen from space. 

“What is that?” Linda Ross asked, spotting the gleam of the metal on the view screen.

“It looks like an astronaut capsule,” Eddie commented. 

“Think there could be anyone inside?”

Juan was willing to bet his ship that there was. On the way over, Juan had called Langston Overholt, the director of the CIA and an old friend, to ask him about Nikolai Drevin. 

Overholt had been cagey, but when Juan mentioned a mysterious object falling from space, his whole demeanor had changed.

“Juan, I need you and your people to get to that object as soon as possible. At any cost.”

Bottomless price tags didn’t come easy from the veteran CIA man so Juan knew this mission was vital.

“We’re on a way there right now Lang. What is it?”

“I can’t be sure,” Overholt said. “But I think it’s one of our agents.”

“Come again?” Juan thought he had misheard. The CIA never dabbled in space flight in his days with the agency. “Isn’t space a little out of your jurisdiction?”

“Laugh it up Juan, but Drevin was this close to knocking Washington D.C. off the map and passing it off as an accident. He would have succeeded too, if not for our man.”

“Your man in this capsule that we’re retrieving?”

“Technically he’s not our man,” Lang confided. “We borrowed him from the British.”

“He’s British? Hold on, his alter ego wouldn’t happen to be named James Bond, would it?” James Bond, codename 007, was Ian Fleming’s iconic British intelligence agent. In the 1979 film Moonraker, Bond, played by actor Roger Moore, had gone into space to stop a plot to decimate the world’s population. 

“Not unless Roger Moore managed to de-age himself,” Langston said gruffly. “Agent Rider, that’s his name, is just over eighteen but can pass as younger. We borrowed him before for a mission on Skeleton Key. This time, Blunt, the MI6 Director, put him in to make friends with Drevin’s son, Paul. He was the one that stopped Ark Angel from creating a national disaster bigger than September 11th."

“I think you’d better start from the beginning,” Juan had stated. Overholt told him the whole sordid tale. Drevin, the collapse of the Soviet Union, Tamara Knight, Force Three, and finally the Ark Angel project and the investigation. 

Juan nodded, though he stiffened at the mention of Alan Blunt. There was no love lost between the prickly MI6 Head and the Chairman of the Corporation. Juan didn’t care for his methods or his tactics. In his opinion, Blunt was too quick to sacrifice agents in the line of duty. Everyone working in espionage was prepared to give the ultimate sacrifice, but Blunt treated his agents more like pawns than human beings.

“Alright, I’ll let you know when we’ve made contact with your man,” Juan finally decided.

“Godspeed Juan and good luck.” Overholt cut the connect, leaving Juan to his thoughts.

Now Juan thought about the mysterious Agent Rider as the Oregon’s crane carefully pulled the capsule from the sea. The Bridge crew and a fair amount of the other crew and technicians that had heard about their change in course made their way on deck, using a couple of hidden elevators.

Julia Huxley, the Oregon’s Chief Medical Officer, was waiting for them on deck with a couple of orderlies and a stretcher.

“Thanks for getting here, Julia,” Juan greeted her.

“Well, I’ve never gotten to work with a patient who just came from outer space. This will be exciting,” she joked.

“From what Overholt told me, the person inside should be a male, just over eighteen years old.”

“He’s still a boy,” Julia said surprised.

“I know, I know, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. He’s an adult and it was his choice. We should respect that,” Juan tried to reassure her.

“I guess but that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Julia murmured.

They were interrupted from their conversation by the capsule landing on deck ten feet away from them. Two mechanics quickly began to work on the seals that held the top in place. Moments later and the top disengaged, a hissing sound echoing throughout as the built up pressure released from the capsule.

“We’ve got a live one here,” one of the technicians stated.

“How is he?” Juan called out.

“Just unconscious. There’s a nasty bruise on his head, looks like caused from one of bulkheads. Probably happened during the landing. Other than that he appears fine.”

Julia took over from Juan. “Can you reach him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Both of you, work together to get him. Try not to jostle him that much.”

The mechanics carefully reached in and pulled out a blond haired figure. They handed him over to one of the orderlies that had approached and the orderly put the him gingerly on the stretcher.

Julia gasped when she got a good look at him. Angrily, she grabbed Juan’s sleeve and hissed, “He can’t be a day over sixteen.”

She was right. The boy had a mop of blond hair. The knot on his head, bruised a dark purple and bleeding slightly, made a harsh juxtaposition with pale skin and soft features. The boy couldn’t be more than 5’ 5”, though Juan couldn’t be sure until he saw the kid standing. He still retained some of that coltish youthfulness that teenagers going through puberty got as they adjusted to their new bodies that changed so fast beneath them. 

Juan soberly nodded. He turned to the crew. They all glanced uneasily at the man – boy – who had been sent to space by the United States’ primary intelligence agency. 

“Everyone, keep a tight lid on this. We need to figure out what is going on. Hali, Linda, Eric, I want you to put out feelers immediately. I want to know all the chatter that exists about ‘Agent Rider’. Anything and everything that relates to him. Eddie, try some of your contacts and ask them about the CIA’s mission into Skeleton Key. Murph, hack into MI6’s database and see what you can pull up.”

Julia and her people finished prepping their patient for transportation. “Juan,” she called to the Chairman. “We’re taking him to the sickbay now. I’ll have a better understanding of his condition once I’ve had a chance to look at him there. There’s bound to be some complications with the change in pressure and altitude that he’s just gone through.”

He nodded to her in acknowledgement. That was putting it mildly, Juan knew. 

“Now,” he announced to his trusted Bridge Crew. “Let’s get some answers.”

The crew scattered, several of the mechanics staying on deck to supervise the loading of the capsule into one of the cargo holds. Juan grimly thought about what he knew of Blunt’s improprieties. “This isn’t going to end well,” he muttered to an ocean breeze that swept across the deck.

\---------

Juan was proven correct five hours later. He was sitting once again in his “Kirk Chair”, staring out the screens all around him. Medical profiles, mission reports, school files, all detailed the same thing.

“This is abuse,” Julia cried angrily. “Juan, that boy has been abused by MI6. Gunshot wounds, no physical therapy for it, no psychological examinations, no evidence of salary, not enough time between missions: these causes would have been enough for a lawsuit with an adult agent, let alone one who is fourteen.”

“I know, Julia, I know,” he sighed regretfully. “We’re in the game to make the world a better place. What do you do when the ones you trust to watch your back are the ones who are polluting it?”

Nobody had an answer to the question. Linda, Eddie, Lincoln, Hali, even Murph and Stone were noticeably shaken and silent. Max cautiously broke it.

“Juan, you know Overholt. You’ve worked under him and with him for years. Did he know? Was he lying?”

“I don’t think so,” Juan admitted. “Overholt’s been in the game a long time, but I don’t think he would knowingly use children to do his dirty work. Blunt however…. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Blunt?” Franklin Lincoln asked, not aware of the hierarchy of MI6.

“Alan Blunt. He’s the Director of Special Operations at MI6. Slippery character, that one. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” Juan explained.

“That’s putting it politely, Captain,” Maurice said dryly, entering the room with a tray of coffees. “Alan Blunt is a soul-sucking, manipulative, backstabbing, vile cretin who shames Queen and country.”

“Speaking from personal experience?” Juan had never heard his Chief Steward worked up over anything, but Blunt apparently was a special case.

“Yes indeed. I served with Blunt during my time in Her Majesty’s Service. A completely more unlikable man you’ll be hard pressed to find,” Maurice said with his usual dry tone, though underneath it held a sour note of hatred. 

“So Overholt doesn’t or didn’t know but Blunt definitely does,” Linda summarized.

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” Linc asked.

“You are going to see the young man. I came to bring you news that he has awakened and is desperately curious as to what the situation is. I told him Captain Cabrillo would be down shortly to see him,” Maurice finished handing out the cups of liquid gold and nodded stiffly Cabrillo. 

“What did you and Julia tell him?” Juan asked.

“Julia told him that he was on a cargo vessel that had been in the neighborhood when his capsule crashed into the ocean.”

“Right,” Cabrillo swallowed the drink in one large gulp. He was going to need his strength and his wits about him for what was in all probability going to be a very long day.

\--------

“Captain Cabrillo, I presume?” The fair haired, too young agent asked from the medical bed where he sat perched. Juan, unhappily, could already see the quirks that he himself possessed as the mark of a field operative: tenseness, marking the exits, assessing everyone in the room.

“Relax,” he said gently to the boy. “Yes, I’m Juan Cabrillo, Captain of the Oregon.”

Alex Rider tensed in anticipation, then made himself relax. Juan could see the effort it took to control his muscles and ingrained reactions. 

“Nice to meet you,” Alex mumbled. “My name is Alex Rider.”

“Yes I know,” Juan told him lightly. Alex’s head shot up, his suspicions instantly rising. 

“It’s okay, kid.” Juan raised his hands in a placating gesture. “My crew and I are under a contract with the CIA to bring you back home safe.”

“You’re CIA?” Alex looked around the ship, as though expecting any army of CIA agents to appear out of nowhere. 

“Ex-CIA,” Juan responded. The young man looked cautious now but not like he was about to bolt, so Juan took that as a sign he was clear to go on.

“I run a small enterprise called The Corporation. We do the jobs that the CIA doesn’t want to be linked to. Technically we’re freelance, but we do the occasional side jobs for the good guys. Picking you up was one of them.”

“I see,” Alex responded, still anxious but not looking apt to panic just yet. "And what does that have to do with me?"

“We were in the neighborhood when your capsule crashed down and Langston Overholt, the head of the CIA, paid us to fish you out of the water and, I assume, to return you to safe land.”

“He did? I’ve only met Joe Bryne at the CIA,” Alex responded.

Joe Bryne, Juan thought. That explains some of the mystery. Bryne wasn’t half as underhanded as Blunt, but he did have a habit of making what he deemed as acceptable decisions that may or may not have been the right ones, at least from Juan’s point of view.

“He did. He was very worried about you and told me that you were the only thing that stopped Drevin from crash landed a space station onto the heart of my nation’s capital. And for that I thank you,” Juan said solemnly. The confusion on Alex’s face gave Juan the feeling that Alex had never really been thanked seriously before, which was a grave shame, considering how many times the boy had saved the world.

“The only problem,” Juan continued, after mentally promising to give the previous topic more thought. “Is that Overholt specifically told us that you are eighteen. And my guys have dug up information that clearly says that you’re fourteen. Is that correct?”

“Yes, I’m fourteen. I’ll be fifteen in a couple months though,” Alex confirmed.

“That puts me and my crew in a bind,” Juan admitted with chagrin.

“Why?”

“Because what Alan Blunt is doing makes me want to send the hounds of hell after him and laugh at the result.”

“Pardon?” Alex blinked.

“Child abuse is child abuse, no matter which way you spin it,” Juan answered with dead seriousness.

“He didn’t-“ Alex started.

“He did and it is. Ever if you are doing this of your own free will, which I sincerely doubt from knowing Blunt, you are still not an adult. No matter how successful you’ve been, and by the way, you must have more luck than the devil himself, it still is child abuse in my book and to the rest of my crew.”

“Your crew?” Alex glanced around nervously, as though looking for hidden cameras. Well, there were hidden cameras, but Juan wasn’t going to tell Alex that.

“Only my senior crew are privy to all the information. Believe me, I had to stop my Chief Medical Officer from hunting Blunt down and tearing him limb from limb,” Juan said, recalling Hux’s furry. “Blunt’s lucky he doesn’t run into her in a dark alley at night.”

Alex smiled though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Unfortunately Blunt controls not only my money and living situation, but Jack’s visa.”

“That would be Jacqueline Starbright, your housekeeper?” Juan nodded, thinking back to the pictures of the American lady whose picture had been in Alex’s file.

“How did you… right,” Alex muttered.

“Sorry about the invasion of privacy, but when it comes to Alan Blunt, I always leave no stone unturned,” Juan apologized.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Alex said in wonderment. Obviously the boy had never met someone with this great a hatred for the veteran MI6 head before Juan.

Juan waved a hand. “That’s neither here nor there. The problem I have is that I cannot, in good conscience, return you to England or any other country under his influence, including the United States, at least until I alert Langston Overholt of the situation.”

Alex paused, a strange look on his face while he thought about the statement. A small smile spread across his face but it was momentarily tempered by the penetrating look Alex shot at the Chairman.

“You’re not just saying that? Blunt is powerful. And I doubt he’s going to let me go this easily,” Alex cautioned.

“As far as Blunt knows, you could be dead. People are not made to go into space and many brave astronauts have perished trying to make the journey home,” Juan commented with a straight face. Not to disparage any of his countrymen that had died in space expeditions, but this excuse was possibly the best Juan could been given, even if he had tried. Mechanical failures, drowning, lack of oxygen, burning up in the atmosphere: it was a miracle Alex even made it back to earth in one piece to begin with.

“But what about Jack?”

“Plans are already being created by my shore crew to extract her. If all goes right, they’ll make contact by the end of the week.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

\--------

Juan, instead of returning to the command center, walked to a smaller conference room, where a screen had been set up to video call Langston Overholt. 

“Is everything ready,” Juan inquired to a nearby technician who was doing a sound check.

“Systems check is green across the board, Chairman,” the man said. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

Juan nodded his thanks and took his seat at the head of the table. Max Hanley occupied the seat to his right and Julia Huxley sat in the seat to his left. Normally both didn’t interact with Langston on this level but Juan wanted them both here. Julia would add credibility for the issue of the bullet wound and Max had a bulldog’s stubbornness. Juan wanted them there to back him up, though he didn’t think Overholt would offer any protests once Juan fully explained the situation. Really he wanted them there to help brainstorm ways to take Blunt down.

“How’s the kid?” Max asked gruffly.

“As well as can be expected. He’s one tough kid though. I could barely get a read on him throughout the whole thing.”

“Is he going to be trouble?” Max questioned, remembering some of the other strays that they had brought aboard.

“No he'll be just fine, especially once we find that guardian of his. What I’m afraid of is the trouble he seems to attract.”

“Come again,” Julia asked, clearly thinking that no fourteen year old boy could be responsible for what was done to him.

Juan moved his hands in front of him defensively. “Look I’m just saying, Alex has both a curious and a noble streak, each a mile long. We've seen that clearly from the mission reports. Those two things in combination will get you nothing but trouble. You’ve read his file. Those drug dealers with the boat, Damian Cray, Scorpia: Alex went searching for them.”

“And you think he might do the same thing here?” Julia neutrally inquired.

“I don’t think anyone knows the answer to that, but it certainly brings us to another question. What are we going to do with him once this is all over?” Max Hanley, Juan thought, ever the realist.

“What am I, a psychic? Let me wave my hand over this crystal ball for you,” Juan joked, both the lessen the tension and to change topics. “Look, all I know for sure right now is there’s a boy in the medical ward who is being abused by Alan Blunt and we need to stop it. All those questions can come later.”

Juan got nods from both Julia and Max. He signaled the technician who had been standing by. “Alright, we’re ready. Put us through to Langston Overholt.” 

\------

The conversation that followed was possibly one of the most awkward Juan had ever had with his friend.

“Fourteen?” Overholt cried incredulously. “Are you sure?”

“Lang, would I bring this to you if I weren’t?”

Overholt grumbled but acquiesced. “No you wouldn’t. But still… I just can’t believe it.” He shook his head.

“I have about a mountain and a half’s worth of paperwork that says otherwise, most of it gained from MI-6’s personal servers.”

“I figured as much but...“ Overholt cut off again, still troubled.

“Look at it this way,” Juan pointed out. “It may come as a surprise from Bryne, but would Alan Blunt do something like this?”

“In a heartbeat,” Overholt answer quickly. Then he paused a few moments and then swore loudly. “Damn him. And damn Bryne as well for getting us into this mess. Alright, you’d better bring me up to speed. What have you found out and what are you going to do about it?”

Juan summarized the files and his talk with Alex as succinctly as possible. He also had Murph and Stone send Overholt a copy of the highlights. “We’ve made plans to retrieve the guardian, Jack Starbright, from England. Apparently her visa has been a point of leverage for Blunt to force Alex into this mess.”

“She’s an American citizen,” Overholt spat. “He had no right.”

“He had no right for any of this, but that didn’t stop him.”

“Well that’s about to change right now.” Overholt apparently took the involvement of an American citizen as a personal affront as well as the fact that one of his trusted men had contributed to the situation. He promised to grill Bryne as soon as possible and get back to Juan. Then he signed off.

“Well, that’s done,” Max said. “What now?”


End file.
